Panacea
by Zerbinetta
Summary: The only mistake he does not want to fix is the hardest to avoid remedying. A sort-of sequel to The Ace of Spades, in celebration of the Trespasser DLC in all of its sequel-bait glory. One-shot, with many spoilers, and, of course, angsty Solavellan that everyone loves torturing themselves with.


A sort-of sequel to The Ace of Spades, in celebration of the Trespasser DLC in all of its sequel-bait glory. I normally romance Cullen, because I love his dynamic with F!Lavellan and his character development (my PC is always a mage, since DA:O), and I might yet do one vignette for him in this style. However, Solas is just an intriguing character, and this has been on my mind for a while.

Other fanfics will be updated, I just needed to get this off of my chest.

 **o.O.o**

 _ **Panacea**_

 **o.O.o**

It begins, as it always seems to, with him, with a terrible mistake.

He slumbers for aeons, it seems, replenishing his strength after the monumental feat of sealing away those who had sought to destroy the world, or rend it asunder, at least. He follows in the footsteps of the rich and the poor, the small and the great, like a spirit of curiosity, a mere ghost tracing their paths.

Then, the Blight reappears, along with many words for which he cannot discern the meaning, and he can't help but follow, as the Fade is in turmoil, and even his faraway friends whisper of the rise of Urthemiel, and that of his great enemy. He is there when the final blow against the Archdemon is struck; hidden, unseen, following the hand of the Warden who slays the dragon. And then, what to him seems to be moments later, like the aftermath of an explosion, there is quiet, and he suddenly awakens.

His first instinct is uncertainty. What to do? Why awaken? But the world is different. Much has changed.

Then, there is fear. For he is weak, far too weak, weaker than he had ever imagined. He is not yet ready to awaken, yet slumber does not return… and, in desperation, he finds a creature he would otherwise abhor, one too similar to those he sealed away, and attempts to harness his power for his own purposes.

To say it fails would be a blatant understatement – for even he can be tricked, reputation in this new world he is seeing for the first time aside.

He puts the world in danger for his own selfish purpose, and that cannot remain.

The creature is abhorrent to spirits and mortals alike, and he cannot act. For Corypheus might not realise he is weaker than him now, but with the orb in his hands, with his newfound powers that he is exploring so rapidly, could destroy him and bring an end to his own hopes for restoring what once was.

He watches.

He needs a champion, or at least a weapon, and so he follows the Blight to its secret hideout, right in the heart of the war between mages and templars. A summit; a last chance for peace among these peculiar creatures. He has seen much over the past year, and most of it beyond terrifying, because he knows he is the one who caused the world to change.

Unseen, unbidden, he walks the dreams of the mortals at the place. Humans and dwarves and qunari, alien creatures that he still cannot understand or abide… and the People – not his People, not his kind, not anymore, not since they have needed someone to blame and cast away and protect them. But who but one of the People would understand the need to protect, and have the power to do so, even without realising it?

He must act quickly. There is so little time. He walks the dreams of those he thinks worthy, or strong, or appearing so.

And, at last, he finds her.

She is a distant descendant of the People – of course she is, there never was a doubt – and young, not yet having seen thirty summers for certain. She is a mage, an apprentice to the Keeper of clan Lavellan, who wander far away in the mountains, watching these strange human proceedings with wariness. Officially, an envoy, but truly, a spy – one in the open, accompanied by none, sent to observe and not to intervene. These poor children of the wood, wandering around like shadows… painful echoes of what once was.

But this doesn't draw him to her, not to this extent. It is her dream, in which she sketches worlds as they must have been, could have been, should have been. She is a student of history above all else, and wonders how things must have been with mages back in the days of their ancient glory, back when no one would have stared at her staff in fear and sneered at the pointy tips of her ears. She listens and thinks and doesn't just _accept_ , as so many of them do, that things are as they were told by their elders. Or seems to, in any case.

She is a poor shell of the People, branded with vallaslin, but she'll do.

He doesn't let her see him, but he ensures she awakes in time, ensures she is placed near the place where she should be due to her own inability to sleep in other rooms. And then, in a perfect stroke of strategy, he sends her in, knowing that either she will prevent the fallen magister from accessing the orb's power in the moment she unlocks it, or perish in the attempt.

It is a gamble that succeeds by what appears to be sheer miracle – but then again, he has never played fair.

 **o.O.o**

He becomes far more familiar with his patient over several days of tending to her.

She succeeded in her task without realising it, but something happened to her in the attempt. The orb's power was too much for a mortal to control, and she paid a considerable price for it. However, the creature paid more than that, and for the moment, he is satisfied.

It is about the only thing that is working to their advantage, what with the Breach looming in the sky.

The makeshift camp can barely offer them sufficient protection, and he himself his weakening, particularly as he has not slept in at least a day. It is more annoying than anything, far more annoying than the silly attempts to break in and kill his patient. As if a scrawny human with a kitchen knife could slay one who had withstood the transfer of power from the orb. Though their chances were greatly increased while she slept, naturally.

When he first attempts to touch her hand, which now shines with light sharper than poison, the mark _shifts_ , and sends a spasm through her. She is dying; the power was never meant to be held by one as fragile as her. But he refuses to let it happen – weakened as he is, he knows many more tricks than he can count, and manages to keep her alive. Though it all seems for naught when the razor-eyed human comes in, sword at the ready, and orders his patient to be put in chains and locked in the dungeons the moment she shows the slightest signs of progress.

It is only the assurance that she will not be allowed to die and be guarded at all times that convinces him to leave her side. He doesn't approve of what these humans are doing, but he can understand how it may look from their point of view. And there is something about Seeker Cassandra that is very trustworthy – in fact, one of the reasons he likes her is her blunt manner and lack of grace. She is, in many ways, the most transparent creature he has ever known, and there is something very reassuring about it.

And, predictably, she keeps her word, and so he beholds his experiment awake (or with both of them awake being more appropriate) for the first time. She's seen battle, as have all fugitives, and she knows a bit of magic, even as she flails it around in her inexperience. But she doesn't know anything about her newfound abilities, and that is where he steps in, grabbing her arm, pointing her in the direction of the rift.

It works. Perhaps this whole desperate gamble wasn't entirely a mistake, after all.

 **o.O.o**

It might not have been _entirely_ a mistake, per se, but the cracks in his plan begin appearing quickly.

Once again, he managed to overestimate the Dalish willingness to listen. For she is Dalish, first and foremost, and years of their primitive teachings cannot be wiped within a mere few weeks. Worst of all, mixed with the natural propensity for inquisitiveness he sensed in her spurned on an interesting mix of a hunger for answers and a refusal to accept those that didn't fit into her preferred one.

Moreover, she questions _him_ in a manner only he had succeeded in questioning himself before. If the Dalish are so childish, why don't you explain things to us? There is a slight sardonic edge to her voice, and she often gives back as good as she gets when he belittles those poor lost children of the wood, but mostly, it's a demand for proof. He sees the deeper questions that she doesn't yet ask – who are you? Where do you come from? How do you _know_ what you tell me is true?

Fortunately, he's skilled at inventing answers, and soon, she is so overburdened with responsibilities that she forgets some of her questions. Or, at least, she begins to take his presence for granted, at least a little, and talks to him more freely, more easily, more openly, purely because he's the only other true outsider among this motley inquisition they've gathered thus far.

She still hopes her mark will disappear, and that she may leave soon to re-join her clan, wherever they might have wandered off to. But she intends to stay for as long as she is needed, as long as she can help, and so, he cannot be too angry with her. She does not yet know the extent of her task.

Instead, he helps her practice with the mark as they roam the Hinterlands in search for aid. Fear of the pain she had experienced still shines in her eyes when she tries sealing the rifts, but after ten, fifteen, twenty, she is more determined than scared. She saves the mages (predictably and thankfully enough, not those peculiar beings they call templars, who continue to make his skin crawl just a little) from their own foolishness, and when he questions the logic of rescuing an already flawed tool instead of a potentially more useful one, she doesn't snap back right away. She thinks for a moment, and says that if she had to choose between saving him or Cassandra (she stops, face hard) she'd choose him. Not because she liked him better (she looks away), but because she thought she had a good idea how the Seeker would take things. With him – and, in turn, with the mages – things were somewhat more unpredictable.

And unpredictability is one of the few advantages we have, she finished.

Of course, since she said that, she has to be proven wrong, the Inquisition surprised, and their efforts crumble.

She falls and disappears, and he only knows she's alive because he would have felt the power moving through the Fade if she were dead. The mark on her hand is permanent – he tried transferring it back many times, but it could not be done, perhaps because he himself is still too weak. But he can't locate her – he doesn't have the means, and even if he did, it would raise far too many inconvenient questions (not that he wouldn't take that chance if he could).

She may be dying somewhere out in the blizzard as he waited miles away, and that irritates him immensely. He feels the wolf stirring inside him, or something akin to that, with the urgency to hunt.

And then, Cullen is yelling, and there is a loud rustle of movement as something or someone collapses into the snow. Miracle, they say. Andraste herself saved her, once again. Again with the silly title. Humans truly could not accept things that didn't fit into their predetermined worldview. Though he does like their ideas, even if he doesn't believe them.

He sees to her well-being. As he had anticipated, Corypheus attempted to do the same as him – reclaim the mark – but could not succeed. The thought is oddly comforting. It means that the advantage – and the means to move these little creatures into place as he learns more of their world – remains in his power.

So move them he does. He needs to take a bit of a risk, but that's hardly an issue he can afford to dwell on. He tells her a little of the truth – that the orb is elven, that the humans cannot know this, and that she needs to become their champion, their leader. After all, he needs a figurehead to steer, and she's proven suitable so far. So, he sends her to where it all began.

 **o.O.o**

The ancient magics of the place are still intact, thankfully, and his own minor interference is barely notices. The Inquisition is grateful for any refuge at this point, and few notice him, and no one asks how he knew of this place. No one realises they would never have found it on their own, and would have likely perished in the snowy wilderness.

But they believe it would have happened without Lavellan leading them – even though, despite her upbringing in the wilderness, she is no expert tracker herself. But she is what they require – more importantly, what he requires. A leader, a head of the Inquisition. She herself is the last to realise this.

They call her Inquisitor. The ornamental sword fits into her slender hand only awkwardly, and at first, she seems to struggle to raise it. She frets, looks for guidance, and doesn't stray far from the watchful eyes of her handlers. In many ways, though they bestowed the title on her, the others will have to carry the institution just as much. His role is simply to gently steer through her.

It becomes far easier at Skyhold. He finally has access to resources, at least, and quickly requests as much as he can in order to both gain knowledge and justify some of what he already knows. And, once the library begins filling up, he finds another reason why his choice of weapon was entirely correct. Lavellan has spent her life until now as a mage's apprentice, and had long since read all the books her clan could have provided her. The knowledge available overwhelms her, and, with no other way of coping, she joins him in the library as often as she can.

Where else would she turn? There are no Dalish among the Inquisition's ranks yet – all the elves around are servants, _slaves_ , even though hers is the only marked face – and the whispers that followed her before she became their leader continue to echo. She is as alien and mysterious to these creatures as his way of doing magic is to her, most likely. And while she does her best to be cordial and befriend her newfound retinue, when she has had enough, it is to the library she flees, fearing the high tower in which she is now housed (and eventually confiding in him her fear of heights, never having entered a building with more than a single floor before), hiding away from those that have next to nothing in common with her.

They argue a lot. About the Dalish, about magic, about the Breach. Never in true anger, though he feels his temper flare up when she challenges him to prove the full extent of the Dalish foolishness. She looks at him, her face branded with those abhorrent marks, and calls them a symbol of pride in her people. But she also listens, she questions, and even at her harshest, she still shows kindness to everyone around her.

Because it costs me nothing, she says when he asks, and gives them much.

He takes it all, and, after millennia of loneliness and vilification, it doesn't seem to be enough. But it keeps him going, and he finds himself fleeing to the library at times in the hope to catch her there.

 **o.O.o**

Eventually, things have calmed down sufficiently, and she asks him about himself and his studies. She is curious, but not repulsed by the unknown – not like he had been when he first awoke in this terrible new world, where so many were blind to the voices of spirits. She is a quick learner, and sometimes, he can't really resist amazing her with his vastly superior knowledge of magic, even in small doses.

Thus begins their first dreamwalk together – the first of many, many more – in the shattered ruins of Haven, renewed through the power of their imagination. He is surprisingly honest with her, by his standards, omitting only the knowledge which would lead to questions he cannot answer. Indeed, perhaps he tells her too much, because she looks at him with new, inquisitive eyes after he gives a hint of just how much she affects him.

She changes everything, including his thoughts and plans. And then, so unlike a frightened animal of prey approaching something worth caution, which she sometimes resembles, she shatters his world again, just as he had grown confident of his superiority over her.

The fear returns, and she draws back all too quickly. For an instant, it seems as if the landscape around them should burst, because he cannot seem to focus on anything other than trying desperately to grasp and make sense of the fleeting touch of her lips on his. In almost all of his long existence, no one had stood so close to him, and certainly not dared approach him so carelessly. Or if they had, he has no memory of it. In that short moment, who he was didn't matter.

He moves on instinct more than thought, and envelops her in his arms before she can conclude that her move was no more than a mistake. And then, without even a moment's hesitation, she is his to do with as he pleases, if only because what he pleases is also what she desires. The instant he withdraws, to study her half-lidded eyes, he confirms this. And, with this confirmation, he kisses her again, revelling in the moment. Somehow, the world doesn't scream at him to stop. The movements come naturally to him, and suddenly, Lavellan isn't merely a vessel for his plans – she is warmth and comfort, softness and passion, and with these formidable weapons, she tears down the first layer of his defences.

They come crashing down in an instant; thankfully, he is still quick enough to recognise the danger this represents and withdraw, or try to. This is wrong, all wrong. She isn't of his People, not truly… but the shape is right, appealing, even, and her connection to the arcane is strong, though part of it might be because of the Anchor. Is it because of the mark that he can overlook these imperfections so easily?

Her eyes are resolute when she overcomes the shock of having been in suck a landscape in the Fade, as well as her wonder. His apology, she brushes aside, once they meet again, back in the keep. _I enjoy your company a great deal,_ she says, _and I'm interested in having it in more than just a studious capacity. A-and it's not just because I feel I can learn from you. You ground me when it feels I'm being asked to walk on air,_ she adds to answer the unspoken question.

This is a grave mistake. Beyond foolishness, beyond any insanity the world could bring upon him. She is a shell to fill with his thought and direction, not-

But something inside him voices treacherous whispers of hope, and suddenly, somehow, he can't look away from the shine of her hair (he is fascinated by her hair, unbound shimmering in the light) or her hesitant smile. In desperation, he reels the conversation back to the academic, but not before giving her the promise of considering the situation.

When she finally leaves, he feels more drained than the moment he awoke, alone and powerless, more than a year ago. And yet, for some reason, this enflames, rather than quenches those soft whispers.

 **o.O.o**

As promised, she gives him time, and makes no mention of the kiss until he himself does. But until that moment comes when he is ready to admit that there is no escaping the scent of her; even in battle, when she slices through flesh and bone like a blade with her magic, nothing can overpower the residue of her presence. She doesn't always take him on her travels, and he spends that time either attempting to either reason with himself that wanting her is utter insanity, or reaching out to her in dreams to know she is safe.

And so, they talk a great deal, even when they're apart. He doubts anyone else learns as much about clan Lavellan as he does, and though the deeper insight into Dalish culture pains him, it also shows the trust she has in him. He has to share her now with many more than ever before, which makes these moments even more precious.

The moment he is forced to reveal more of himself to her because of painful circumstances is thus easier than he imagined. He has precious few friends left in the world, and does not want to abandon them if he can help it. But he can't go alone, not anymore, not when their current objective is so important. He expects Lavellan to agree readily, but not to drop everything she is actively working towards at the moment to follow through with it.

She does.

They set out the next day, and he feels Cassandra's questioning eyes stray between the two of them when Lavellan ignores any objective that cannot be solved with a direct application of persuasion or force on the spot in favour of following through with her promise. Of course, Cole is fully aware of what is happening, and is excited not only at the idea of helping a fellow spirit, but primarily to help him and Lavellan. Because the pain of desire is not one either of them can hide so easily, and it's an ache that can be solved with ease, if there is the will to do it.

Then, there are things which cannot.

There is ringing in his ears, and he expects Lavellan to step between him and the blubbering, moronic barbarians that caused the destruction of one so dear to him, but she doesn't. If she had… he doesn't know how he'd react to that, and doesn't want to find out. But even though she looks away, her blue eyes are hard and unforgiving.

 _Cold hands, despite the flame. Family split up, brought low by this division. Why would you ever believe their promises? I'm scared, sorry, sundered._ Clan Lavellan had had a different First, many years ago. One who became resentful of the young Second's grasp of magic, and the clan's pride. When the demon returned to satisfy its host's final craving, in its own twisted way, neither she nor the clan could afford to show mercy.

Cole is the one to reveal that, of course, long before Lavellan is ready to speak of it. Only later, it becomes apparent that she keeps closer tabs on her clan than she lets on, and remains as invested in their affairs as she possibly can, out of guilt. Why she keeps playing Keeper for the entire Inquisition.

Not why she plays Keeper for him – not at all what she wants to be, in his eyes. He confirms this when she is the first to rush out of the main keep of Skyhold when he returns, after some time in peaceful solitude. He is tired of senseless destruction at the hands of fools, be they power-hungry titans or scared children.

But even more than that, he is tired of resisting the one spot of brightness in this desolate world, and standing this close to it does not make it any easier. He hasn't forgotten any of the kisses in the slightest – in fact, he doubts he'll ever be able to, as they are burned into his memory. There is only one moment of wavering in his mind, because he knows there is no possibility of things ending happily. Yet isn't even he allowed one moment of calm, to be viewed with one creature in the world with something else than scorn and distrust? Especially if that creature is her.

She is light and goodness and understanding and warmth. She is… words fail him, and he cannot for the life of him find a word in any of the languages he speaks for what she is, what it means to him that she exists, walks the same path as him, and perseveres.

To describe what it is like when she tells him she loves him is impossible, even as he is the one to give voice to the feeling first.

 **o.O.o**

Over the next few months, the Inquisition grows considerably, and faces more hardships than he could have anticipated. Ironically, he cannot remember being happier in ages. Slowly, his efforts are also gaining momentum, and he manages to develop a wider network of trusted agents and informants. For now, they work for the benefit of the Inquisition. He doesn't think of what comes after, not yet.

Lavellan surpasses challenge after challenge, until it seems that there is truly nothing that can stop her. And he, faced with this wonder, begins to question himself and his intentions. If she can exist, who's to say that the rest of the world is truly as rotten as he believes? Even among the others, there is some measure of worth – Cassandra's valour, Cullen's determination, even Varric's wild stories and refusal to look back – and so, he begins to doubt. There is hope, and, for the first time, he's forced to wonder if perhaps it isn't better to let the tide carry him, have others change the world for the better, and let the thoughts of destruction and rebirth drown.

By then, everyone knows or suspects something about his involvement with their leader. It isn't that they haven't been careful and even considerate of the personal space of others, but one can only be surrounded by highly perceptive individuals for so long before someone slips up, or notices, or even imagines they did so. After all, she is the flame to which all of them are drawn, be it by chance or by intent, and even he isn't blind to the eyes of men (and, indeed, women – even if Sera would never admit to finding the Dalish mage attractive due to their frequent arguments) that often follow her. Only one time does she notice him carefully observing those studying her, and laughs about it afterwards.

 _I am blessed with many friends, but only one of them holds my love._

 _My apologies, vhenan. You are young and beautiful, it is no surprise that you'd draw the eyes of many._

 _Thank you. For not saying that it's because I'm the Inquisitor. And for seeing more than that in me._

 _It's a title you carry, not the essence of who you are. I knew you before the current Inquisition existed, and you would not lose yourself even if you renounce the title._

But he _has_ begun to lose himself, because she now outweighs the entire world he knew as his own in his mind. It is a monstrous image, on one hand, but on the other, he can find no fault in the reasoning.

Especially when she smiles at him, repeats the vows that temporarily make him forget the world, and then, seeing something in _him_ that perhaps even he doesn't see, giving herself to him fully.

Physical comfort wasn't something he had sought in ages, but she has found a way through to his heart, something he also believed he no longer needed. She's proven him wrong so many times already, what is one more? On the road, or when they're far apart, he always finds her in the Fade, but the first time – and precious few others, when duty and the road doesn't call to them – is in the flesh. Were he a harder man, and Corypheus not a threat, he might have contemplated killing her then, when her sleeping countenance had no defence, in order to regain his purpose. But that man hasn't felt the flame of her kisses consuming him, or seen the clarity of her desire to improve the world. That man doesn't exist anymore.

He never meant to seduce her through trickery – or, indeed, seduce her at all. And she has earned the right to know who he is now, not merely who he was before the world fell to ruin.

 **o.O.o**

She must find out, before her recklessness continues. She has to understand the danger – doesn't the irony just _sting_ – in which her determination to preserve ancient lore trapped within the Vir'abelasan and understand more of her people has brought her. Despite his best efforts to goad the witch into foolishly taking the power for herself and becoming bound for eternity, it was she who stepped in and took on the burden, needlessly.

He wants to shake her vigorously, make her aware of just how close she had come into signing her soul away to a being stronger than any demon she might face. For while Mythal might be the best of the Evanuris – and the only one who wouldn't make her kill herself purely to punish him – she is still a creature of immense power that he cannot trust fully. Especially as he smells something of her in the raven-haired witch, which raises more questions that he is determined to answer.

But Saisha holds her ground, even with the whispers of the Well just at the edge of her hearing, claiming she would not trust any other with the responsibility. She doesn't use the word _power_ , though part of her appears thrilled, even if she cannot make out all that she has learned. The marks of Ghilan'nain shine on her face, more brightly than ever, and he knows that this madness must finish.

He is afraid, more than he can ever remember being. Afraid for her, who plunges recklessly into untold danger. Afraid for himself, because for once, he cannot read her, and doesn't know if his gift to her will be met with heartbreak or revulsion, or something he hasn't yet predicted.

She claims she would restore things the way they were… but better, more vibrant, more alive. Perhaps she would understand after all…

But standing here, on the precipice of the abyss, he is ready to throw it all aside – his plan, his people, his past. After all, none that now live can free the Evanuris. Few remember them. Without him, this world will continue, and he can have no cause to ever look back. There is a future waiting for him, walking beside his love, and it's so close he can almost feel the world shifting again. He has long since given up the leash he carefully wove around her, and now, he must set her free from all of her other chains.

But, as he looks into her eyes, filled with more love than he knows he deserves, he stumbles over fear again. No one but her has ever loved him for what he is, or seen him more clearly. Yet he's been lying to her from the beginning, and when the dread of losing her love now grips his heart, he once again lies to her – with the truth.

For the first time since he's known her, he finally sees that expression on her face that he fears more than her anger – it's disappointment and heartbreak, nothing less, when he tells her the truth about the intricate lines marring her skin with the signature of a false god. It's enough to spur on his own fear; if she knew the rest, she would surely loathe him. And if there's one thing in this world that he will not allow to come to pass, it's losing her love. But he must tell her this.

 _We vowed never to be slaves again… and you're telling me we never broke that chain in the first place. Instead, we carried it proudly for the world to see._ She sounds defeated, more than anything. The sight tears at his heart, and so, he offers her freedom. It is perhaps what he should have done the moment they met, though it is difficult to say if she was ready.

She's on the threshold of ceasing to be Dalish, what she used to believe being elvhen stood for, and casting aside her entire world. And, unlike him, she chooses to take the plunge with little coercion. The markings of slavery disappear from her skin under his touch, and, for the first time, he sees her face as it was meant to be seen. She is no longer a slave to Ghilan'nain, and he aims to rid her of her pledge to Mythal by any means necessary. There will be no past between them, only the future. He can still summon the courage to ask forgiveness.

He is on the verge of the abyss, ready to abandon the essence of who he is for another. One more step…

But there are things even he cannot rid her of.

The mark on her hand. His magic has kept it stable, for now, but he remains too weak. She is beyond beautiful, and yet, so mortal. She will die. They all will, these people who have begun to mean something to him. His love wouldn't save her. Her love for him will cause her death, because he cannot save her if he loses himself in it. He cannot, _must not_ lose her love, this painfully beautiful wonder in an otherwise empty world.

This world… with so much sorrow and darkness, so many mistakes. How could it have created one perfect creature? Would she understand the need to change it if he told her? Would she perhaps-

There is a sliver of hope that she'll survive his plans, but none that she would walk this path beside him. This world is the only one she's ever known, and she's been fighting so hard to preserve it. And he will not be able to watch if his actions changed her, if she began to resent him for the path he must walk. Perhaps she will survive, and then, he will face her judgment – hers, and that of the elvhen.

And so, feeling a thousand thorns slicing through him, he steps back from her.

 **o.O.o**

The first few days, he cannot even dream. Every moment he shuts his eyes, he sees her face, sliding from hurt to hope, from love to confusion, and from horror to despair. He hears her voice, broken as it is upon the stream of tears, repeating her promise of love as he walks away. He hears Cole's clear voice, telling him that she blames herself for his sudden change of heart and cannot understand what came between them.

She doesn't come see him or speak with him. But the worst is yet to come. When she ultimately has to, she doesn't look at him. She looks past him, and there is no joy in her voice as she speaks. She turns and disappears the moment she is able, and her steps are far lighter and quicker in running away than they are in coming to him. It isn't long before what seems to be all of Skyhold has noticed the change.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not at all, Cassandra is the one to break the silence. The tall Seeker storms into his sanctuary when she's confident that there is no chance of Saisha returning early, and doesn't hesitate a moment.

 _What in the Maker's name have you done to her, Solas?_ He supposes he could pretend not to know what she meant, but that would be a discourtesy to someone he admired.

 _I'm confident that personal matters between myself and the Inquisitor are of no concern to you, Seeker._

 _They are when they risk the functioning of the Inquisition, and the well-being of a friend. I know you love her. I know she loves you,_ Cassandra presses on when he doesn't answer. _Now there is this… wall she creates around herself whenever you're nearby._

 _I would have thought you think it best that the Inquisitor focus on her task. We could be facing the final onslaught quite soon, and distractions are dangerous._

 _Distractions? If you truly believed that, I do not think we'd be having this conversation in the first place._

 _What makes you think Lady Lavellan was not the one who made that decision?_ Denying it would likely only infuriate the human, who had become a close friend to Saisha, despite their great differences.

For a moment, Cassandra was silent, contemplative. Judging him for no longer using her name, perhaps. _Do you know that she fought with Vivienne and Josephine on your behalf? They said someone like you was not a suitable partner for the Inquisitor – in their own ways, of course. She never once considered a compromise, even when it would have been easier to abandon whatever you had. I don't believe that she would do so now. And I did not believe you would either,_ the Seeker added, her eyes of steel darkening in disappointment.

The words cut him to the quick, but he cannot answer them, not without revealing his anger and pain to yet another of these unfortunate, doomed souls.

 **o.O.o**

He is there, with her, in those final moments, because even though she cannot meet his eyes without something in her struggling to break free – righteous anger, most likely, which his weakness undoubtedly deserves – she recognises his value as a resource and ally. She casts down the pretender, and restores the world as it was. It is in that moment that he knows she will be his foe when the day comes that he attempts to create change.

But he cannot leave her without one final assurance – that he loves her, that he always will, and that the wrath of the world, the revenge of his sealed-away brethren, the death of all she holds dear, will never change it. If she learns nothing else, that, at least, she must know. Then, unable to say goodbye to her, he vanishes with the wind.

He does not see her face for two years, every moment of which he forces himself to focus on his task.

The distance improves things… somewhat. Without her presence, it becomes easier to focus, and hunting for her in the Fade requires an effort he forbids himself from making. If there is any punishment for what he will do to her world, it is denying himself her presence, and so he suffers it without pitying himself, even once he has the power to do so easily.

That doesn't mean he isn't aware of her movements. With Corypheus gone, she focuses on stabilising the continent, becoming a voice of reason and action among politicians. She seldom ventures into the wilderness to explore anymore, his contacts tell him, even less so after most of her companions slip away to return to their own lives. And though he doesn't attempt to directly find out if she thinks of him still, he can infer that no one has taken his place at her side. He also hears whispers – rumours only – of pained cries behind closed doors, and of healers being summoned. That isn't a result of his departure.

Her influence and power rival that of Ferelden and Orlais. The two nations do not suffer this quietly for long. Human gratitude is painfully fleeting, and the grumbles grow louder each day. Conqueror. Tyrant. Those are among the gentlest names she gets called by some, and fills him with dread.

But one epithet gives him pause. _Bas saarebas._

With Leliana departed to be Divine, the Inquisition has become worse at intercepting hints. Especially when the danger comes from within its own ranks. Even their spymaster had not stopped qunari infiltrators when they had come for the Iron Bull, though their deaths had been swift enough. And more qunari deaths are a price he's more than willing to pay for preserving the lives of the deserving. This is where Saisha must come in.

He orchestrates things carefully, knowing that she will pick up the trail and hunt down those who'd dare endanger her. He never intends for her to encounter him, as he is no less impervious to pain than she – he only means to heal her from afar, if he can. Of course, he cannot anticipate the odd mix of determination and cowardice of the qunari leader, who rushes away to face her doom while leaving her people to die.

And then, he hears his name, and the sound fills him with such conflicting emotions he almost doesn't turn around.

Of course it's her. She bears armour he doesn't recognise and her hair is a little longer than he remembers. Her face – beautiful, though unhappy – bears no markings. She didn't renew them and undo his work. Among his many unwanted observations, Cole once suggested that she feared it was something she'd done that ultimately separated them. But, looking at her with more powerful eyes, he could still find no fault in her. She is no less exquisite than when he had abandoned her, no less _real_. But if she is real, so is her pain.

She is dying. In fact, she is very close to death. On this day, the last day she would ever look at him with eyes of crushed love, he has no more secrets to keep.

She isn't as afraid of him as she should be. Perhaps this is the recklessness of the dying, or she believes in the strength of the bond between them too much. And she's right – he couldn't harm her if he tried, though, in the end, he instigated the mark on her hand in the first place. She listens to the truth, her face grim, but doesn't flinch in the face of the end of her world. Recklessly, she challenges him to answer what he'll do once the Evanuris are released. How will he fight their combined fury with no element of surprise to conquer them with? Why not choose _this_ world, she demands again, as she had long ago, when he destroyed what they had to save his people. Those are questions he has pondered for long, and he knows better than to reveal them. That plea does not move his heart.

 _She_ does. Her pain returns, and even his magic can stop it no longer. Gasping out words of love in her final breaths, as if her own death brings her no fear in comparison to the path she sees before him, she entreats him one last time. His precious _vhenan_ , the one good thing to come out of this fractured world. It would perhaps be kinder to let her die rather than allow her to chase him – and she will, the moment she can, there is no mistake about that – and keep her only in his memories, rid himself of his heart so that he may have the strength to do what he must.

But he is a selfish creature, he knows, and can never bring himself to wait when the helpless suffer. There is only one way to save her life. He doesn't give her the chance to refuse it, though it is a cruel mercy. It is also a move that may discourage her from throwing herself into his path, though, knowing her, it won't stop her for long.

In their last kiss, he can see a world where their paths never diverge, where the spirits are free, and his people guide all of creation to glory. A world without fault. He doesn't know if it can ever exist. But if _she_ can, perhaps it can, too… or at least a world in which he can right most of his own mistakes.

He regrets them all, except for the one he may fix by accident. And so, in the end, he hopes that she will remember that, while their love may not endure as she believes, his always will.


End file.
